#devotational prayer

[dionysianmystery]

Grief, Hallowed Demeter, as I cling to your words

Like the changing colors of the leaves, it inches through me

Helpless to stop it

And known is its inevitable conclusion.

As I lay across the earth, I wonder

If you too feel such things;

If the color of golden death makes you begin to weep

Tears of red and yellow, Autumn’s ails upon us.

I know, in Days, there will come dawn again,

And Helios will warm our faces,

And the grass shall sway in Notus’ breeze.

But now- Autumn reigns upon us, and us-

Soundless Mourner, Graceful Demeter-

Our heads are cradled by Sleep.

[dionysianmystery]

On the golden glint of horizon,

I see the helm of Tireless Athena, Wise-Eyed

With her thousand woven threads

That stretch down from the heavens-

Wisest Athena, I now praise.

Let me rest in the hollow of your shield

Carry me the last breaths of wisdom that I cannot grasp

And turn towards me your favor.

The uncertainty of my voyage casts me out

Far into the sea

A familiar prayer once again for your ears, I sing

“Grant me your blessing,”

Oh, Gilded One

“Grant me your strength.”

[dionysianmystery]

Demeter

When I say, my god, and I gasp in surprise

A secret shared between breaths I give you

When I say, my god, and shake my head

I cast my eyes to you.

How do I begin, and how do I end it,

In describing you, I feel my words fade

You are the mother, the giver

You are wrathful and merciful and black with vengeance

You are the food I share and the flowers I watch wither.

It is often I praise you, yet seldom do I share

For selfishly I wish to be alone

And fearfully, the words escape me even now

[dionysianmystery]

Demeter, the blackened one

How often I sing your praises

And more often I feel your love

The trees that blossom and the produce I see bloom

And most often, I am sure

Others say such things too.

But dear mother Demeter, it is a different thing that I praise today

Invoked or not, you were with me

When after so long, it was revenge-

Against that terrible thing that had taken so much from me.

It was you who was with me then, fury-eyed Demeter

In my fear and sudden fright, it was you

Who made my blood lurch forward

And gave me strength of rage.

For Ares may know war, and Themis justice

But only you, Demeter of the razor sharpened grain, of withering winter loss

Only you have lost as I

And only you have beheld revenge for it

[dionysianmystery]

Apollo, that which burns the sun

The healer, the one thrice armed

With arrows and lyre

Held up high with dear Helios whom we too love.

You are here when I beg your aid,

When I pray for the healing of those I love

That through you, too, Asclepius might be moved.

You are here too when I grieve

For mortals eyes cannot see what you do

Though you try to aid me there as well

And I know it is out of love for me.

And so now, Apollo of the Gleaning,

I give my thanks to you

For I know often your favor, and often more your love

And through this prayer, I send these things in return

To you, Apollo Phoebus, once more

[dionysianmystery]

Nemesis, inescapable and ashen

Baleful indignation that rouses in my breast

It is not you who placed it there

But it is you now that I call for.

I have held wrath, burned within Ares

And I have felt that dull dagger of contempt

And finally now I make these words to you;

Finally now, I pray, I will gain your ear.

Are you not the Goddess of Resentment as well?

Will you not hear my rotten words?

Dispenser of Dues, Goddess of Retribution;

There is one that has escaped you.

Exacting Nemesis, now I cry

Make swift your judgment,

Make fast your blade.

Bring this indignation to an early grave,

And make me suffer its stinging claws no longer.

[dionysianmystery]

Oh flightful Anemoi,

What words do my lips now sing?

Onto the east wind, the west wind

Out into your intrepid ears, carried by the waves.

What prayer shall I say to you?

To you, great gods of winds.

Perhaps I can beckon for Eurus, the winds of autumn

But in the heat of day, I find Notus in the air

And it won’t be long until Boreas thunders onto course.

My lips speak of love, though, sweet scent in the air

And so I whisper this prayer to you, gods of the wind

That you may send honeysuckled breeze outwards from me;

That the wind for the one I love be gentle and kind

That it smells of warmth and of the sun.

And the heat of day be made cool,

The weight of sorrow made less.

With four sets of hands, let it be done

For swiftness and with love.